h a ruffled shirt and a queue.

"Was he your father, Madam?

"Yes, dear; my honored father. I did up his frills to the day of his
death; and the first money I ever earned was five dollars which
he offered as a prize to whichever of his six girls would lay the
handsomest darn in his silk stockings."

"How proud you must have been!" cried Polly, leaning on the old lady's
knee with an interested face.

"Yes, and we all learned to make bread, and cook, and wore little
chintz gowns, and were as gay and hearty as kittens. All lived to be
grandmothers and fathers; and I 'm the last, seventy, next birthday,
my dear, and not worn out yet; though daughter Shaw is an invalid at
forty."

"That 's the way I was brought up, and that 's why Fan calls me
old-fashioned, I suppose. Tell more about your papa, please; I like it,"
said Polly.

"Say 'father.' We never called him papa; and if one of my brothers had
addressed him as 'governor,' as boys do now, I really think he 'd have
him cut off with a shilling."

Madam raised her voice in saying this, and nodded significantly; but a
mild snore from the other room seemed to assure her that it was a waste
of shot to fire in that direction.

Before she could continue, in came Fanny with the joyful news that
Clara Bird had invited them both to go to the theatre with her that very
evening, and would call for them at seven o'clock. Polly was so excited
by this sudden plunge into the dissipations of city life, that she flew
about like a distracted butterfly, and hardly knew what happened, till
she found herself seated before the great green curtain in the brilliant
theatre. Old Mr. Bird sat on one side, Fanny on the other, and both let
her alone, for which she was very grateful, as her whole attention was
so absorbed in the scene around her, that she could n't talk.

Polly had never been much to the theatre; and the few plays she had
seen were the good old fairy tales, dramatized to suit young beholders,
lively, bright, and full of the harmless nonsense which brings the laugh
without the blush. That night she saw one of the new spectacles which
have lately become the rage, and run for hundreds of nights, dazzling,
exciting, and demoralizing the spectator by every allurement French
ingenuity can invent, and American prodigality execute. Never mind what
its name was, it was very gorgeous, very vulgar, and very fashionable;
so, of course, it was much admired, and every one went to see it.